Getting Use to This Type Of Worship
I rose tentatively, hoping that it was all right to get off my knees and wondering if I would offend her by running to the bathroom to remove the acrid residue on my taste buds by gargling with Listerine. I desperately wanted to kill any germs that might have lodged in my mouth. However, when I stood up, the pressure in my pants reminded me of an even more urgent need. I was embarrassed to admit that even though I found this form of ass worship somewhat distasteful, I must have subconsciously found it erotically stimulating because my little pin-dick was fully engorged and rock hard.
However, I was so self-conscious about my pathetic little gherkin that I was too embarrassed to have Femdom Bella see it. I had known from a very young age that I was smaller than all of my classmates just by looking and comparing myself to others in the shower of the Boys Locker Room. I was always the smallest and was teased and taunted endlessly by my peers. Exposing myself to Femdom Bella would have been terrifying.
Did You Enjoy Yourself?
I looked at her pleadingly and acutely aware of the ache in my groin, I desperately wanted to rush into the privacy of the bathroom to jack-off and gargle. Since I really didn’t know what to say to Femdom Bella, I could only stammer out in a submissive and humiliated whisper……….”I…..please. ..I…need ….to”. Before I could finish, Femdom Bella had slipped into her gown, settled comfortably down into her chair and was visually examining the crotch of my pants with a sarcastic smirk on her face.
“Did my little piglet enjoy worshipping my ass like a honky slave? I can’t see any bulge in your pants little one so it’s hard to tell how much you enjoyed yourself. Unbuckle you pants, Sugar Plum, and drop them to the floor so I can inspect you.” I hesitated for an instant because I was so shy and had been teased so unmercifully for being so tiny. The idea of exposing myself to this woman frightened me so much I could feel tears welling up in my eyes.
My Sexual Inadequacies
But Femdom Bella was not to be denied and she forcefully commanded me to drop my pants. Like an automaton, I reluctantly dropped them to the floor; but, kept my underpants in place to protect my dignity. The tiny bulge in my white cotton underpants was so small that Bella couldn’t stifle a wickedly derisive chuckle that quickly turned into mocking laughter as she surveyed the little bump protruding ever so slightly from my groin. “You punk little white bois are all the same, aren’t you?” she said as her lips curved into that superior feminine smirk. “Your little pee-pee is like a baby’s itty bitty toy and so small it’s hard to tell when you’re aroused isn’t it? It’s so tiny I’ll bet you can’t even put your hand around it to stroke it when you masturbate, can you white boi?”
Her words stung me deeply and opened up a festering raw nerve that always caused me to feel even more submissive, obedient and worthless. Everything she said was true. It was too small to stroke and I did have to rub it with two fingers when I masturbated just like when a girl rubs her engorged clittie. I hung my head as my face turned a bright crimson red from the embarrassment and shame of having my sexual inadequacies exposed like this and my little toy cock became soft and even tinier as it began to recede up into my body and disappear so that my underpants were now almost completely smooth just like the pantied profile of a girl’s pussy.
Please Mistress Bella
Bella laughed even louder and said, “You look just like a little girl and you should always cover that little clittie with silky feminine panties, instead of boi’s underwear. However, even little girls need some relief, don’t they Tinker Bell?. Say ‘please Mistress Bella,’ and I may help you, piglet.” “Please help me, Please, Mistress Bella.” I murmured softly as I hung my head in shame and mentally resigned myself to being objectively humiliated and degraded.
Satisfied by my pathetically passive response, Femdom Bella nodded triumphantly and pointed at the mantel,”Hand me that thing,” she said. Puzzled and overwrought, I stepped to the fireplace and picked up the “thing” on the mantel. It was about two feet long with a handle of black, tooled leather. Handing it to her, I asked,”What is it?”Just a little horsehair switch to beat off white boys with,” she said. “I designed it myself.” Gesturing with the switch, she told me to pull my “poor little white thing”out of my underpants.
She Beat My Genitals With A Switch
Thankfully, her words and the vision of that switch beating against my pathetic little dick had jump started my libido and my microscopic flaccid one inch cocklette began to respond. It quickly had become fully engorged and rock hard. Nonetheless, I blushed with humiliation and embarrassment and felt extremely vulnerable standing there with my tiny little 3 inch long erection fully exposed.
Femdom Bella shook her head irritably, saying, “Your Balls too, punk – if you have any.” When I had complied she handed me her empty wine glass. “Catch your miserable cum in this.” Then she proceeded to beat, expertly right on the genitals, quite gently at first and then harder as I grew somewhat used to it. Made willing by my desire, I stood there and took my beating, doubting that she would make me cum this way, despite the state of my arousal.
Drink Your Cum
She seemed to have no doubts, however; the accuracy and timing of her blows was practiced and deliberate. Finally in a paroxysm of pain, pleasure and humiliation, I grunted out my load of cum into the wine glass. “Not too bad, for a tiny dicked, ball less honky,” she murmured. Stunned, dazed and reeling from the cruelty of her words, I was mentally and emotionally thrown totally off-balance and before I had a chance to regain my composure, she told me to drink it, and I did, lifting the glass like a soulless robot, and swallowing my own cum.. I must have looked as lost as I felt, for her laughter echoed wickedly throughout the room.
On my way home that night I tried to shake off my feelings of degradation. I was embarrassed, ashamed and filled with guilt and remorse. Surely, I told myself, I had merely been caught off guard. And by a woman who was obviously an expert at putting down white guys. Christ, what a weird, twisted way she had of getting her kicks!
The Wicked Black Woman Cast A Spell Over Me
Well, I was no masochist, at least not enough of one to ever be tempted again. Bella Prout would have to find herself another whipping boy. I would never, never go back. I couldn’t wait to get the lingering aftertaste of shit and cum out of my mouth so I pulled over at a gas station, bought a bottle of mouthwash, rushed into the men’s restroom and gargled at least a dozen times as I desperately tried to eliminate any residue of this humiliating and degrading experience so I could put it behind me forever.
Yet two days later, when she called and summoned me (“Get your ass over here, white boy!”), I was knocking on her door within a half hour, trembling with anticipation. In those two days, I had learned a great deal about myself, as I’m sure Femdom Bella had known I would. For those two days I had been unable to think about anything except the wicked black woman who had dominated me so thoroughly. And somehow made me love it.
Sexually Stimulating Myself
At night, she dominated my thoughts as I tossed and turned. I would awake in the middle of a Wet Dream and see her face with that superior feminine smirk as she whipped and beat my little pin-dick and balls to the edge of climax. Whenever I masturbated, she consumed my fantasies and I somehow felt compelled to swallow my own cum. I even experimented with sticking my fingers inside my ass and then licking them clean just to become more accustomed to the taste and odor and was totally shocked to discover how erotic and sexually stimulating it felt to move my fingers in and out of my very sensitive little brown rosebud.
Yes, I had learned a lot about myself in those two days and willingly went running to Femdom Bella, like a moth to the flame. I couldn’t resist her Siren’s Song and I wanted desperately to please her, to serve her and to earn her praise. She treated me as her servant, less than that, as her slave. I cooked for her, made dinner for her; then stood meekly behind her, a towel over my arm, waiting to serve her a second helping of salad or fill her wine glass.
My Little French Maid Outfit
Later, sexually, she used me as she had the first night, except that this time, she was more abusive and I was cringing more and more submissive to her. After my third or fourth visit to her house, I stopped telling myself I would never return, she seemed to have cast a spell over me. Each night she drove me to new depths. And she taught me that there were no depths to which I would not go. Sometimes she made me into her little French maid, having bought a costume just my size. She teased my hair, put makeup on me, painted my nails and shaved my legs. I pranced around the house in high heels, mini-skirted maid’s uniform and saucy white cap, doing the little domestic chores femdom Bella had assigned me.
When I inadvertently lapsed into a masculine gesture or expression, Bella instantly corrected me, slapping my taffeta-covered bottom with the leather paddle she carried. Under her expert guidance, I soon learned to mimic a female in every way; in my walk, my facial expressions, the way I sat down and curtsied. Even my voice and speech patterns grew more feminine. I never knew in advance what humiliating role she would order me to play. Sometimes she quite literally used me as a dog, putting me a collar and leash, leading me around her house and out into the backyard, where she made me lift my leg and pee against a tree.
Little White Toilet Slave
When I had finished ‘going’ she led me back to the kitchen, still on my hands and knees, of course, and filled my dish with dog food. I got so use to it I could wolf it down quite authentically, though I hated the stuff. One night when she was a little tipsy, she poured my dog’s dish half full of vodka and made me lick the dish dry, she led me wobbly, even on my hands and knees into the bathroom. She told me to squat beneath her. I raised my head instinctively, waiting for her to fuck my mouth. Instead, she adjusted my mouth to a slightly different position and then calmly proceeded to use me as her urinal.
I gulped frantically, some of her piss splashing over my face and shoulders, and I managed not to gag until it was over. She laughed at my discomfort, and threatened to beat me if I vomited up any of her precious “honky wine.” When I had my urine-filled belly under partial control, she told me to clean up the mess in the bathroom and join her by the fireplace. I returned when I was finished, ashen-faced, but ready for more. She smiled and patted me affectionately on the head: I would feel better soon, she predicted, and let me sip some real wine from her glass.
In time, she told me, I would learn to love drinking her piss, and I had a horrible intuition that she was right, as usual. After that evening, whatever the role I played for her, the episode always ended with her using me as “her little white toilet slave.” I soon learned to serve her in this way without spilling a drop, and I did learn to love it.
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